Red Wine
by ink and ashes
Summary: They would never forget the sacrifice of her blood-splattered canvas.


**R E D . W I N E**

_Heaven ablaze in our eyes_

_We're standing still in time_

_The blood on our hands is the wine_

_We offer as sacrifice._

His blood turned to ice in his veins as he and all of Underland watched with triumph… and muted horror.

Her mass of tangled waves shone with all of the brilliance of the Sun, momentarily reflecting the light glistening from the blade she held high above her head. The clamour and clatter of battle died to a silent whisper as her wonderul and _terrible_ rasp roared, "_Off with your head!_" and her silhouette, too small and feminine for that suit of armour, flew high above them on invisible wings. They watched as she swung down with all of her strength, grunting from the effort. They watched as the Vorpal sword inched closer and closer with all of the speed of a Mock Turtle. They watched as, in a final and desperate attempt at victory, the mighty Jabberwocky flailed and thrashed. They watched as the creatures drew back ebony, gnarled talons as if to swat their Champion away.

They watched as her body froze mid-flight.

The overcast horizon bled tears of angry reds and oranges, swirling in the oblivion of desolation. The checkerboard battlefield glowed with sadistic glee, the blackened trees in the distance bristling with hostility. As so many times before, Time stood still and choked their throats with fear, the dank odor coating the breeze with misery. The sky parted for the briefest of moments so that the angels may cry upon their tarnished lands.

The pain in her belly felt akin to a really bad case of food poisoning. As the edges of her vision blurred and shifted, Alice briefly marveled at the distinct weightlessness when just moments prior, she had reflected grudgingly upon the weight she bore on her person. Even riding on the Bandersnatch had been a chore, the armor biting into her flesh in odd places and hindering her movements until she felt like a lumbering, awkward piece of tin. Never before had this sensation been so… prominent. Sword, Jabberwocky and all of Underland were forgotten as she chanced a glance to the source of the discomfort and, when her eyes lay upon the horrible truth, she felt her grip on the blade slacken a fraction.

The armor of the Champion seemed little more than paper; the sharp claw had impaled her entirely and where there should have been an abdomen, there was only blood.

_Her_ blood. With the last of her energy, she finished the deadly arc and beheaded the creature, preserving the triumphant look on its face forevermore.

In death, the Jabberwocky's grip slackened and her body was relinquished from its clasp, falling limply to the checkered ground below. The dull _thud_ barely registered, for there were a myriad of sounds emitting from all around her; shouts and cries, hoots and hollers, gasps of dismay and relief. She did not hear the Queen sentence Iracebeth and the manipulative Knave of Hearts to a fate worse than death, nor did she see the crown finally rest upon the rightful Ruler of Underland.

But Alice _did_ see the hatter. She saw him clearly, fussing with the armor and nearly shredding it in his attempt at disrobing her of the useless item. She wanted to dissuade him—it was futile, and they all knew it—but her mind began to wander… to her mother and sister… to the Ascots and the entire troupe of people at her would-be engagement party that she had left behind… to her father, who would have _loved_ this world and all of its _mad_ rules and _mad_ people and all of its _mad_ adventures… and the hatter. What would become of them all? She turned to him and wondered at the tears she saw brimming the corners of his sunset-orange eyes. Orange? Were they not green? She had seen them change before—had not understood why—and knew it had something to do with mercury and his trade… but she had never seen anyone able to change their irises at will. How peculiar…

"_Alice!_" he was saying, his voice hoarse and raw. She hated to see him so sad. "Please, hold on."

She watched him turn to the Queen, who attempted to hide the sadness that matched his own. Mirana shook her ivory mane. "The injuries are…" The defeat in her words were palpable. What Alice did _not_ see was the pool of red—the same red that had so celebrated the reign of the Bloody Red Queen—that soaked into the knees of the hatter's pants; that swirled and snaked around Mirana's dainty slippers and prodded at the hem of her gown; that grasped the honey curls fanned about the Champion's cooling body and twisted them into withering waves of ebony.

And there was _so much_ of it.

It was raining in earnest now, thinning the dark puddle about them, but unable to wash it from their hands.

His hands were so, so warm in hers. Wet, warm, sticky hands. He brought her knuckles to his lips and brushed an ardent kiss there, as if trying to convey something just beyond her reach. She smiled at him, a small flutter stealing a beat in her heart. "Don't worry," she said. "I'll be back before you know it."

But it was a lie. A White lie, and a horrible one at that. Alice had always been a terrible liar. It was a lie of desperation, but also a selfless one, meant to cheer up the ones that had thrust this upon her—that had forced a young woman to choose a path that, by all means and rights, she should not have had to take. The hatter wanted more than anything to switch their roles in this, for it should have been _he _to take that final blow… to avenge his clan, his world, with his dying breath. Instead, a beautiful, intelligent, positively _delightful _young woman had sacrificed herself for a land she had not been born to, and lied so that they may feel at ease. And before he could tell her how _horrible_ it was to lie like that, she coughed and sputtered, spittle and blood forcing their way up her gullet. She gasped once, twice… and lay still, her eyes frozen in mid-blink. The hatter watched her lively, jovial amber eyes darken and cease to shine. He watched the breath die on her lips—felt her grip loosen and die in his hands.

He watched as the What-Could-Have-Beens of his—their—future die, one by one, with their Champion.

And all of Underland stood still in the silence.

_For your soul, my love_

_Rip out the wings of a butterfly_

_For your soul…_

**FIN**

**AFTERWORD: **Lyrics are the work of H.I.M's "Wings of a Butterfly". For those of you who have read _Her Infernal Majesty _and _Spiral_ and are waiting for updates… they are coming. I'm sorry for the delay. _Her Infernal Majesty_'s chapter is getting longer than I imagined, as is _Spiral_… so, hopefully, both will be up and running by the end of the week. Thank you for reading.


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